


A Guide to Recognizing Your Ghosts

by Xavantina



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU: Chilton dies at the end of Yakimono, Attempt at Humor, Ghost Sex, I can't believe that's a tag what is wrong with you people?, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's hard to explain isn't it, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Not that slow really, Post-Canon, at some point, chillywilly, ghost au, slow-ish build, what's wrong with me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xavantina/pseuds/Xavantina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something in Will's house and it doesn't seem very happy to be there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr user illogicalhumanoid suggested a Ghost AU where Chilton dies and then comes back to haunt Will's house, because it was the last place he felt marginally safe. I opened a document, entitled it 'tiny ghost au' and started typing.
> 
> This is not tiny at all. It's made up of tiny bits, but there are a lot of them. 
> 
> Regarding ghost lore: what ghost lore? I've literally made everything up, and I don't care.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Will Graham does not believe in ghosts.

Not in the literal sense anyway. He knows all about feeling haunted by what he has done and the people who have died because of him.

Actual ghosts though? No. No way.

Which is why it is very hard for him to admit that his house is most definitely haunted.

It began soon after he arrived back from the hospital, barely holding himself together after Hannibal cut him apart. In the beginning it was just things disappearing and reappearing somewhere else. It never happened while he was in the room, so during these early stages he simply figured that the painkillers were messing with his memory. At one point he found an old psychiatry text book that he hadn’t read in years on the dining room table, opened on the chapter discussing the use of various drugs during therapy. Will had stared at it for a while and then put it away.

That’s when the dogs started acting weird. They would randomly get up every few hours and start barking and whimpering, running around the living room like they were searching for something. At night it got even worse. No amount of soothing words could calm them down, but at this point Will still had no idea what was going on.

Once things started to fall down from his shelves right in front of him, he decided that either a) he was losing his mind (again) or b) something was in his house. It didn’t knock down anything breakable, just books and various knick-knacks, one after the other, from left to right, but skipping picture-frames and his ceramic figurines. It was the most meticulous, almost polite, bout of destruction Will had ever witnessed. By the end of it his bookshelves where empty, piles and piles of books lying on the floor in front of Will’s feet. He stared down at the mess, thinking about how he did not want to clean that up. And how he certainly didn’t want it to happen again.

“Okay,” he had said to the empty room. “Okay, fine. I’ll... Just stop messing with my house, I’ll figure out some way to communicate with you.” He had felt really, really stupid, but then a single book, the same psychology textbook from before, had been picked up by some invisible force and put back on the shelf where it came from.

Will rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on fast. “Yeah, thanks. And by the way, I don’t know if you’re freaking out my dogs on purpose or not, but I’d be really grateful if you tried not to.”

Come nightfall, the dogs had yet to launch into another frenzy. Every so often all of them would perk up and look in the same direction, their eyes following something Will couldn’t see. It didn’t matter. He had cleaned up the mess from earlier and he didn’t feel like doing that again.

(He would have to go to the library tomorrow, to research ghosts. Since when was this his life? Sometimes he missed Hannibal a little.)

Which leads up to now. And right now, Will is sitting cross-legged on the floor with a goddamn Ouija board in front of him and a notepad resting on his knee, just in case this actually works. The previous attempts at spiritual communication had not. The pendulum in particular did not seem to fall in his ghost’s taste: he managed to ask one question (‘are you a ghost?’ – the book said you should check that before proceeding any further), at which point the pendulum had been violently yanked from his hand, flying through the room in the ‘yes’ direction, leaving a dent in the wall it eventually hit. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

The Ouija board is the last option, and he saved it for last simply because it seemed so dumb. This isn’t a high school slumber party, or a second-rate horror movie. He has almost decided to just give up for the night when the ghost intervenes. 

The book said you would have to touch the little planchette at least, but no, Will’s ghost is quite happy to do all the work. It’s a fast speller too, and Will scrambles to keep up. When it finally stops, Will takes a deep breath and reads over his notes. Oh.

‘are you just going to sit there mr graham’

“Uh... No, I was... so, this thing works then?”

The planchette skids across the board to ‘yes’.

“Oh. That’s good.”

It does a little spin. Somehow it comes off as sarcastic. 

“So, why are you in my house?”

Another round of lightning-fast spelling. ‘i wish i knew’.

That’s not very helpful. “Have you been here before?”

Another ‘yes’.

“But... you didn’t die here, right?”

‘no’

According to the books, ghosts usually haunt places they’ve had a connection to in life, or the place they died. So at least it isn’t Randall Tier.

“You know me though.”

‘yes’

Will’s throat feels a bit tight when he asks, “Did you... did you die because of me?”

Nothing happens for several seconds. Will is almost ready to call it quits when the ghost starts moving the planchette again. This time it goes slower, almost as if it’s trying to calm him.

‘i do not blame you for my death will’

Will stares long and hard at those letters at the bottom of his notebook once he has finished jotting them down. “But arguments could be made for it being my fault.”

The ghost refuses to answer. So it’s a pretty emotionally competent ghost, apparently.

There’s really only one question left to ask at this point, and it’s the one Will really wants to avoid. Putting a name to this spirit of his... it will mean admitting that the ghost of a dead person is actually haunting him.

“Who are you?”

f...r...e...d...e...r

Will scrambles to his feet, almost kicking over the board while he spins around himself, as if the ghost will actually appear. “Chilton! Frederick, damn it, is that you!?”

Logically, he already knows that Chilton is invisible, but realizing it’s him, that _he is in the room_ (or at least his spirit is), but Will can’t see him – that is unnerving.

On the floor the planchette has settled on ‘yes’

Will takes a moment to collect himself before sitting down, turning to a new page in his notebook. There’s no going back now. Frederick Chilton’s ghost is living in his house. Which reminds him: “Are you trapped here?”

‘yes’

Will tries to remember all the things he read earlier, but it’s hard when he can tell from the tension in the air that Chilton is getting impatient. “You can’t leave the house?”

‘no’

“Do you feel like there’s some sort of, I don’t know, pull from ‘beyond’ that you want to respond to but can’t?”

‘no’ followed by ‘i feel nothing’

“So you’re not in pain?”

‘no’

“That’s good, I suppose. Any hunger or thirst?”

‘no’, once again adding letters afterwards, ‘i am bored’

“Yeah, I sort of figured that when you wrecked my living room,” Will mutters under his breath. The planchette starts moving, no doubt to spell out a snide remark, so Will snatches it off the board. He holds it, eyes darting around the room to see if there is going to be any consequences. Nothing happens. Good. “How long have you been here, Frederick?” he asks, putting the planchette back down.

‘since i died’

Will frowns. “But that’s... weeks ago!” He thinks of all the things that have happened in his house since then; Randall Tier, Margot, Mason... And Chilton was there to witness it all apparently. “Why didn’t you start drawing attention to yourself earlier?” He can’t help wryly adding, “I know you must have wanted to.”

‘fuck you’

“That’s not very nice.”

‘i tried many times always failed can sometimes move things and alert dogs now’

“And handle the Ouija board without help,” Will adds. During the seconds that follow in complete silence, Will can almost feel Chilton’s glare from somewhere to his left. “So in the beginning you were sort of a diffused presence?”

‘yes’

“Do you feel more... corporal now?”

‘yes’

Will nods silently to himself. So he is getting stronger. At least he isn’t an evil spirit, just an annoying one. “Wait... the book on the table, opened on the chapter about the therapeutic possibilities of various chemicals. That was you trying to give me a hint, wasn’t it?”

‘yes’

“Okay, I’m sorry I didn’t pick up on that, I didn’t actually think there was a ghost in my house.”

‘no kidding’

Will’s wrist is getting sore from frantically writing down everything Chilton is spelling out, and he is running out of questions as well. It’s not like he can just sit here and chat with him all night. They don’t have that much in common. But at least with Chilton he doesn’t have to worry about making eye-contact anymore. That thought almost makes him laugh.

“If you are getting stronger by yourself, I think our main priorities should be to a) try to figure out if you are stuck here forever, b) find a better way for you to communicate, and c) make your life...- eh, sorry, existence here as comfortable as possible. So you don’t feel the need to wreck the place.”

Chilton sticks to a simple ‘yes’.

Will nods. “ That’s settled then. What’s your major concern right now?”

‘boredom’

“Understandable. I will figure something out.” Exhaustion is starting to set in fast now. Obviously it does take some mental effort to communicate with the dead. “I’m tired,” he says. “Are you tired from this?”

‘yes’

“I guess we should call it a night. I’ll get to work tomorrow, figuring out what to do with you.”

The planchette does a fancy little spin before settling on ‘good night’.

Will smiles softly into the empty room. “Good night, Dr. Chilton.”

***

Will finds absolutely no helpful information on how to release Chilton from his current existence (besides lots of mediums and a couple of priests offering to perform exorcisms). Chilton doesn’t actually want Will to try to send him to the great beyond either. Being a ghost is obviously better than an unknown alternative. In the end, they just agree to let things carry on whichever way they want to carry on.

Which is scary as hell.

***

Communicating via the Ouija board was going to get exhausting, so Will finds a rusted old baking tray under the oven and fill it with sand (overpriced ‘fish tank’ sand from the pet store), carefully setting it down on the dining room table.

“Is this going to work?”

A couple of dots appear in the corner, like Chilton is experimentally dipping his finger into the sand. Then he writes, in that flowing, pretentious handwriting of his, ‘It works’

“Excellent,” Will says, reaching out to shake the tray to level the sand. Much to his surprise, Chilton manages to do it on his own before he has the chance. “Oh, nice. This will be much easier than the board.”

Chilton isn’t up for small talk. ‘Where is Hannibal Lecter?’

It’s not a subject Will feels like discussing, not while it still hurts whenever he strains his abdominal muscles, not while he still feels Abigail’s blood on his hands no matter how often he washes them. But Chilton deserves to know as much as anyone, he supposes. “He’s gone.”

‘Gone?’ Chilton adds below his initial question.

“He escaped. Fled the country. Probably went to Europe. The FBI is searching for him, obviously.”

‘And you?”

“What about me?”

‘Will you be searching for him?’

That remains to be seen. He wants to, but he is on indefinite leave for the time being. He needs time to heal, they say. It won’t be good for him to chase after Hannibal in his condition. They make it sound like they’re talking about his physical state, but they really aren’t. “At some point. Not yet. I need... They say I need time.”

‘Do you?’

“My wounds haven’t healed properly yet...-”

‘That’s not what I meant’ Chilton writes.

Will swallows around the growing lump in his throat. “I know. And I honestly don’t know if I should be pursuing him all across Europe as I am right now.”

There’s a lull in their conversation. Then the surface of the sand ripples until it’s smooth again, and Chilton starts over. ‘Your scar is very impressive though’

Will chuckles. “Have you been spying on me in the shower, Frederick?”

‘Certainly not! I merely caught a glimpse or two while you were changing.’

The outrage in those words is so palpable that Will can almost hear Chilton’s voice saying them. He laughs, looking around like he can catch Chilton’s eye. “Oh, so you’ve been watching me change then, that’s much better.”

‘Stop being insufferable, Mr. Graham, it never suited you’

Will stifles another bout of laughter. “How do you manage to sound flustered in writing? That’s a special talent.”

‘I am not flustered!’

“Do ghosts blush?” Will asks, grinning so broadly that his cheeks are beginning to ache. “‘Cause if they do, I bet you’re doing it.”

‘I’m not talking to you if you’re going to keep up this nonsense’

Will’s rush of giddiness is starting to fade, but the smile lingers. “I’m sorry, Frederick. It’s been a very long time since I laughed.”

Chilton pauses for a few seconds, then writes ‘In that case, I will forgive you. Just this once’.

***

A week passes and Chilton has now managed the art of writing with pen and paper, which is even more practical. He is obviously proud of himself, leaving longer and longer messages for Will.

They talk about what happened in Hannibal’s kitchen that night. How Jack is back at work, how Alana will be out of the hospital any day now. Chilton seems genuinely distraught when Will tells him she will be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. These are things that Will would never have wanted to discuss with Chilton while he was alive, things he still finds too painful to talk to anyone else about, but sitting alone in his living room with a glass of whiskey and a notebook next to him, speaking out loud, seemingly to no one? That’s not too bad. It actually feels therapeutic.

Nobody is telling him anything about how the hunt for Hannibal is going. Will has been avoiding newspapers since he arrived home, and he is not going to start reading Tattle Crime. Chilton stops asking soon enough.

He finds that he actually enjoys “talking” to Chilton like this; he is a better listener now, and being dead has taken the edge off his arrogant nature, but left him with that dry, sarcastic sense of humor that Will actually enjoyed, and since Will can’t see him, he doesn’t have to worry about looking him in the eye during their conversations. It’s a pleasant arrangement, or at least more pleasant than he would have imagined.

***

‘The man who cut off his own face and fed it to your dogs. Mason? Who was he?’

Will spots the message as soon as he enters the house, written on the notebook he keeps by his lures. He ignores it for as long as possible, until a sudden chill starts blowing through the house, Chilton’s most common way of signaling displeasure. Will braces himself and approaches the desk.

“Mason Verger. Of the meat packing Vergers.”

‘Margot’s brother?’

Sometimes Will forgets that Chilton was here for all of it. He hasn’t asked about Randall Tier, but then again that situation was more straight-forward by comparison. “Yes, Margot’s brother.”

‘I liked her. What happened?’

“She used me in order to get pregnant, so she could produce a male heir and inherit the company after killing her brother. Hannibal told Mason about her plans, and Mason...” Will pauses, the emotions he felt at the time coming back at full force. “Mason had his people surgically remove all of her reproductive organs. Killing my – _our_ unborn child.”

Chilton takes a moment to absorb the new information, or maybe he wants to give Will a bit of time to collect himself. ‘I’m sorry about that’

Will smiles sadly. “Yeah. Me too.”

‘So Hannibal punished him, even though Hannibal was to blame in the first place.’

“Hannibal never sees any conflicts of interest in that regard.”

‘Is Mr. Verger still alive?’

“Yes. Paralyzed from the neck down, no face. Margot is in control of both their lives now.” A nasty part of him, the part that speaks with Hannibal’s voice, is thrilled. Death was too good for that monster.

‘Would you say that Mason Verger deserved what happened to him?’

It seems Chilton is adding mind-reading to his repertoire. “Always the psychiatrist, even in death.” When Chilton doesn’t write a response, Will shrugs. “I guess I do.”

‘If I were to be candid, I might agree with you.’

***

Boredom really is Chilton’s main problem, especially once Will starts leaving the house more often. The academy has offered him his old teaching position back (although he really doesn’t understand why – most likely Jack has something to do with it, hoping that it will keep Will distracted) and Will accepted (to make Jack happy).

It feels like a major compromise of his ideals, but Will goes out and buys a laptop, signs up for Netflix, and lets Chilton compile nine hour playlists every morning. It’s not much, but it seems to alleviate some of his frustrations.

***

Will wakes up from a nightmare, covered in sweat and shaking so badly he doubts his legs will support him on his way to the bathroom in search of towels.

To his surprise he finds a small pile folded neatly in the armchair next to his bed. He stares at them, knowing that he did not put them there. For a second he worries about his sanity.

Then a light breeze blows through the room, despite the windows being closed against the bitter winter cold, and Will realizes where they came from.

“Thank you, Frederick.”

***

Once or twice it occurs to Will that he might just be imagining the entire thing. That Chilton’s ghost is a delusion conjured up by Will’s lonely mind. Nothing more than a coping mechanism that has spiraled out of control.

Chilton senses that something is wrong and asks him if he wants to talk. Will stares down at the notepad for a while, then shakes his head.

“I think I might have gone insane. I have no one left. Only you. And I think my mind is making this up. I mean, how can you be real?”

Chilton’s reply is prompt; ‘If you were hallucinating, if this was some sort of fantasy to help you cope with everything you’ve gone through, why would you be imagining me? Why not Abigail?’

“That’s a pretty good point, I have to give you that.”

‘I’m not...’ He scratches the words out and starts over. ‘I _wasn’t_ exactly someone you associated with comfort.’

Being dead really has done wonders for Chilton’s personality. Will snickers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, okay. You win. It would be an odd choice.” 

‘Exactly. You don’t even like me.’

Will’s face turns somber. “That’s not true. I mean, it was true. But it’s not anymore. I like you a lot, Frederick. You’re the best ghost a man could wish for.”

He waits patiently for a reply. It takes a while. No doubt Chilton is trying to figure out if Will is being serious or not.

‘I’m glad you’re the one I’m haunting’ he finally writes.

“Me too.”

‘Although I do wish I had had the chance to haunt Dr. Lecter.’

Will laughs. “That would have been amazing. You could have driven him insane, easily.”

‘I could have left his refrigerators open while he was out, so all his food would spoil. I could have moved everything in his office two inches to the left every single day.’

“You could have knocked down all his books,” Will suggests. “You’ve proven quite good at that.”

‘That was to get your attention,’ Chilton corrects him. ‘I wouldn’t want Hannibal’s attention. I’d want to drive him crazy. To make him question his own reality and eventually break down completely. It seems only fair, after what he has done.’

It’s nice to see some genuine vindictiveness from Chilton, a darkness to match Will’s own. “It would. Poetic justice, I suppose.”

‘Do you think Abigail’s ghost is living in Hannibal’s house? Or Miss Katz’s?’

The thought hadn’t actually occurred to Will before now. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. “I don’t know.”

‘You could always take that silly pendulum of yours over there and check.’

“I don’t think so,” Will says quietly. “Not yet, anyway. Plus, you didn’t like the pendulum.”

‘I was way beyond such basic modes of communication at that point. I found it insulting.’

Will snorts. “Of course you did.”

***

Somehow, Will settles into a life of quiet domesticity with the ghost of his former psychiatrist and keeper.

Chilton lets the dogs out when Will isn’t home and cleans up some of the clutter that Will seems incapable of managing. Will starts to figure out where Chilton is based on where the dogs are lying when Will enters the room, all of them curled up comfortably on the floor and couch surrounding a Chilton-shaped empty space. Sometimes he has the urge to try to touch him when he knows where he is, but it’s a ridiculous impulse and he ignores it every time.

One night, while Will is doing the dishes, he accidentally drops a cup. Instead of it shattering on the floor, Chilton catches it in mid-air. Will didn’t even know that he was in the room. The cup elegantly sails upwards until it has reached Will’s chest. Will can almost visualize Chilton holding it out for him to take, and he smiles fondly at where he imagines Chilton to be. “Thank you,” he says.

Unwittingly, he is reminded of Hannibal’s metaphor about tea cups shattering and coming back together. But instead of letting himself be seized by melancholy, Will adds a new possibility to the story; sometimes the tea cup won’t even shatter. Sometimes someone will catch it.

Will puts the cup on the counter top with the rest of the still-wet dishes. He sees something moving out of the corner of his eye. It’s a dishtowel. Chilton is holding out a dishtowel for him.

He might just be able to get through this after all.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chilton makes his first actual appearance and things turn to porn faster than you would expect

Will is in the bathroom brushing his teeth the first time Chilton manifests visually. Will catches a glimpse of him in the bathroom mirror and screams, choking on a mouthful of toothpaste while he spins around.

Chilton looks... like himself? There’s no bullet wound on his face, he is dressed immaculately in one of his nicest suits instead of gaudy prison orange. His cane is missing. If anything, he looks healthy. This is probably helped by the fact that he is smiling from ear to ear, beaming actually.

“Look at me!” he says, voice high with excitement. “I’m visible. I’m-...” he reaches out his hand to touch Will’s shoulder. It goes right through, leaving a strange chill in its wake. Chilton’s face falls. “- not corporeal. Damn it.”

“Um.” Will feels a blob of toothpaste foam running down his chin. “Hang on,” he manages, turning around to spit in the sink and wash out his mouth.

“Ah, of course. I apologize for startling you.” He sounds remorseful, but he is still smiling when Will turns to face him again. “The dogs were quite shocked as well, when I managed to do this downstairs.”

“I can only imagine,” Will mutters, his eyes running over Chilton’s body. “You look great, by the way.”

Chilton leans to the right to look past Will at his reflection in the mirror. “Huh. I guess I do.” He runs his fingers down the side of his face, stopping where Miriam’s bullet must have entered his skull. “Thank God for small blessings.”

“Where’s your cane?”

Chilton frowns, “I don’t know. I hadn’t really noticed that it was missing.” A brief look of realization flits across his face and before Will knows it, Chilton is hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt and pulling up the t-shirt he is wearing underneath. There’s no scar. His abdomen is completely unblemished. Chilton slides his hand back and forth over his stomach a few times, his eyes gleaming with wonder. “It’s gone,” he says, mostly to himself. He looks up at Will, a joyful smile on his lips. “It’s _gone_.”

His enthusiasm is infectious. Will smiles back. “I guess dying reset you somehow.”

“Mmm,” Chilton hums, still caressing his abdomen until he notices that Will is staring a little bit. Not a lot, just... a bit. Chilton hurriedly drops his hands and starts doing up his shirt again. “Sorry about that, it’s just... it feels amazing not to have that scar constantly reminding me of... you know.”

“I get it.”

Chilton realizes what he means a second later. “Indeed you would, naturally. I’m still sorry about that happening to you, in case I didn’t make that clear at some point.”

Will nods, “You did. Trust me, you did.”

“Good.”

Brief periods of silence ought to be a lot more uncomfortable with Chilton actually in the room with him, but for some reason it isn’t so bad. They must have grown closer than Will thought, because he actually finds it in him to look Chilton in the eye. “Maybe when I die, mine will disappear as well.”

“Maybe,” Chilton replies. His image flickers briefly then, like he truly is just a mirage Will’s mind has conjured up to fight his solitude. “I hate to cut this conversation short, but I appear to be running out of energy.”

“It’s okay,” Will says, barely stopping himself from trying to touch the other man (ghost). “It’s amazing that you’ve managed this, you should relax for a bit. We’ll practice some more later.”

Chilton appears very pleased. “Good. Good. That sounds brilliant. Talk to you later.” 

And then he disappears again, leaving Will alone in the bathroom.

***

Chilton is as stubborn in death as he was in life. He spends hours sitting at Will’s desk (his jacket hangs on the back of the chair and it’s such an unbelievably human thing that Will’s throat feels oddly tight) trying to pick up the colorful feathers Will keeps there for his lures while still remaining visible. When he finally manages for the first time his whoop of joy is so loud that both the dogs and Will are scared half to death.

It’s a slow process. Following his first successful attempt at picking up an entire lure, he is so drained of energy that he disappears entirely for several hours. When he eventually manifests around dinner time, he looks tired as hell, but infinitely more satisfied.

He moves on to larger, heavier objects. Will loses quite a lot of plates before Chilton finally gets the hang of it.

They don’t touch. Will doesn’t reach for him, and Chilton doesn’t even mention it.

One night when Chilton gets up from the armchair that has become his, he stumbles over Buster, and probably would have broken something in the fall if he didn’t phase through the floor instead. He appears again a split-second later, a giant smile on his face. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he says. “I wasn’t... I just bumped into him. Accidentally.”

“That much was obvious,” Will replies teasingly. “That’s great though. You’ll be a fully functioning ghost any day now.”

Chilton nods. “You know what, I think I might.”

***

Chilton breaches the subject after dinner the next evening (it was strange at first, having Chilton join him while he eats, but now it’s just routine), while Will is clearing out the table.

“I was wondering if you would let me try to touch you again?”

He sounds so hopeful. Will can’t possibly say no, _no I’m scared of what might happen if I can suddenly touch you_ , so he just nods. “Sure, I’ll just put these away.”

“I’ll help,” Chilton offers, and before Will can turn him down, pointing out that he should be conserving his energy, Chilton is out of his seat and carrying an empty pot in one hand as he walks into the kitchen.

They end up sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace surrounded by the dogs. When Chilton gestures that he is ready, Will holds out his hands, palms up.

With a look of intense concentration on his face, Chilton reaches for him. When they touch for the first time, Will can’t suppress the shiver that runs through his body. Chilton’s hands feel warm, dry and _solid_. There is absolutely nothing in this moment to suggest that he isn’t human. 

(He has beautiful hands, larger than Will’s, with long, elegant fingers)

Chilton is gently running his fingertips across the palms of Will’s hands, along his fingers, finally turning them over so he can hold Will’s hands in his own. While Will is focusing on Chilton’s face, Chilton’s eyes are fixed on their joined hands, his expression one of absolute pleasure and satisfaction.

They sit there in silence for some time – probably just a few minutes, but it feels like hours. Chilton’s thumbs are gently caressing Will's knuckles and the backs of his hands, but the intimacy of it isn’t bothering Will at all. It’s actually very soothing. Eventually Chilton’s image flickers for a moment, and with a sigh he withdraws. 

“Wow,” he mutters, “That was amazing.”

“It was,” Will agrees.

“Did it feel real to you?” Chilton asks eagerly. “It felt real to me.”

Will nods. “It felt real. Normal.”

“Brilliant,” Chilton says. He is smiling. “Can we try again tomorrow? Maybe we could get a watch and time it, see if I’m making progress.”

“You are making progress,” Will tells him, unfolding his legs and getting to his feet. “But sure, we’ll time it tomorrow, see how it goes.”

***

Chilton is actually improving at a faster rate than expected. 

To begin with they repeat their initial approach, sitting across from each other on the floor, Will remaining immobile while Chilton gently (so gently) touches him; his fingers skimming down Will’s arms, trailing along sensitive skin to the insides of his wrists, his palms, resting his hands on Will’s knees, sometimes sliding up Will’s thighs, but never so close to his crotch as to suggest any sexual intent. Once or twice he puts his hand on Will’s shoulder and slowly drags his fingertips along his collarbone, then up the side of his neck. Will moans softly, involuntarily. If Chilton notices, or is affected by it, he doesn’t let on. His eyes never leave his hands, watching intently as they explore Will’s body. The expression on his face is always the same – a mixture of concentration, wonder, and unadulterated pleasure. His enjoyment is infectious and Will never tires of seeing it. He could watch Chilton’s face for hours like this.

Within a week, Chilton feels confident enough to ask (his eyes fixed on the floor, his teeth worrying his bottom lip) if Will could try touching him.

They start off slow. It turns out to be harder for Chilton to maintain a corporeal form when he isn’t the instigator of physical contact, especially if he isn’t prepared for where Will is going to touch him. So Will telegraphs his movements, giving Chilton plenty of time to prepare before Will lightly rests his hands on Chilton’s knees, elbows, arms or shoulders. Once they’ve got this down, Chilton starts closing his eyes, so that Will’s touches will be a surprise each time. Sometimes it doesn’t work, and Will’s fingers simply sink into thin air. Chilton will growl in frustration then, and insist that they try again.

And when it starts to work every time... Will finds it difficult to look away from Chilton’s face. It feels like some sort of breach of privacy, somehow, to watch the other man sitting there with his eyes closed, his brow furrowed with concentration at first, and then relaxing into something like pleasure as time goes on. Will mentally maps out every inch of Chilton’s face during those moments, noting how Chilton’s lips part slightly when Will’s hands are on his thighs, how he swallows when Will caresses the insides of his wrists.

He knows what it is, of course. Physical contact, skin on skin (Chilton no longer wears his dress shirt during their sessions, only the impossibly tight t-shirt he wore underneath, allowing Will access to his bare arms), releases endorphins. Endorphins make you feel good. Hence the desire for more physical contact. Somehow the two of them have ended up in a cycle of mutual gratification, based on what could technically be dismissed as something platonic.

They both know that there’s something more lurking underneath the surface, but neither of them are willing to admit it. It doesn’t make any sense, after all. They are not compatible, or rather, they weren’t. Will has no idea where the affection he now feels for Chilton stems from. Sometimes he wonders whether he should worry about it, but then Chilton sighs softly when Will walks past him and brushes his fingers through Chilton’s hair without warning, and Will can’t find it in himself to start analyzing his emotions. He just allows himself to feel for once.

***

There is a question that sticks in Will’s throat for days. When he finally blurts it out, it’s a lot less eloquent than he’d hoped.

“Were you lying? The first time we talked on the Ouija board, when you told me that you didn’t blame me for your death.”

Chilton is sitting by his laptop (it’s not Will’s, never was really), reading Tattle Crime (because he is a masochist even in death). He looks up at Will and very slowly closes the screen.

“I know you did what you thought was right,” he says. He sounds like he is choosing his words very carefully, most likely trying to avoid upsetting Will, which is slightly upsetting on its own. “You thought I would be safe as long as I was in custody. You couldn’t possibly have known that-...”

Will cuts him off. “That’s not what I asked,” he says.

Chilton sighs, staring down at his hands. “I blamed you in the beginning. I was angry.”

“And now?”

Chilton looks at him then, and Will sees nothing but honesty in those clear green eyes. “I didn’t lie to you.”

He doesn’t know why he feels so relieved, but it feels like a huge weight has suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. “All right.”

***

Will is the one who breaks first, which is unexpected. He is sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, reading a book while Chilton’s fingers dance across the expanse of his back, occasionally skimming down his upper arms.

“Do you think I should start taking pottery classes?”

It takes a moment for the joke to sink in, but when it does Chilton starts laughing, deep and genuine. “I hate to say this, but you’re no Demi Moore, Mr. Graham.”

Will smiles, looking over his shoulder at the other man. “You’re not quite Patrick Swayze, Dr. Chilton.” While Chilton shakes his head, still chuckling, Will rises to his knees, turns around and shuffles closer until he kneeling right in front of Chilton, their bodies inches from touching. Chilton immediately grows silent. “Do you think this will work?” Will asks, slowly leaning forward to give Chilton plenty of time to prepare himself. When their lips touch Will feels a gentle shiver running through Chilton’s body before his hands come up to grab a hold of Will’s shoulders. Will pulls away just as Chilton parts his lips to deepen the kiss, and he groans with disappointment, leaning forwards in pursuit of Will’s mouth.

“Easy,” Will mutters, although he wants nothing more than to abandon all pretenses and throw caution to the wind. “We don’t want you to get-…”

Chilton interrupts him. “I’m fine, trust me.” When he leans in and presses his lips against Will’s once more, Will doesn’t resist. Chilton’s lips feel as warm as the rest of him and slightly moist, which is ridiculous; there’s no chap stick in the house and Chilton wouldn’t use it anyway, because his body is stuck in some sort of limbo (his hair hasn’t been growing since he materialized, neither has his facial hair). The only explanation is the Chilton normally wore it and so his current body has retained it. In the same way his scars are-… Chilton’s tongue slides past Will’s lips and any thoughts about Chilton’s current condition slowly dissolve, leaving Will’s mind blissfully blank. He moans, reaching up to cup Chilton’s cheek, using his thumb to stroke the other man’s cheekbone. 

It’s not enough. Will slips his arm around Chilton’s waist to pull their bodies flush up against each other, needing to be as close his possible. In this position he can feel the slight tremors that run through Chilton’s body when Will’s teeth graze him bottom lip, he can drag his fingers down Chilton’s spine through the soft fabric of his t-shirt and enjoy the way Chilton arches his back like a pleased housecat, almost purring into their kiss. 

And that’s when it happens; Will suddenly finds himself kissing thin air and losing his balance, falling forwards once he no longer has a body to lean against. He gasps, feeling incredibly stupid.

Chilton reappears a second later, his face flushed. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, absentmindedly licking his lips. “I got carried away, lost focus for a bit.” One of his hands move to clasp one of Will’s like a life-line.

“Do you need to rest?” Will asks, focus darting between Chilton’s mouth and eyes.

Chilton swallows, looking very conflicted before finally admitting, “Yeah, I do.”

“Tomorrow you will be stronger,” Will reminds him. “Who knows what you, what we, will be able to do in time…” The promises lurking in that sentence are obvious to all, and Will can now confirm that ghosts do in fact blush. He leans in for another brief kiss (much too brief) and Chilton vanishes in the blink of an eye.

***

It is simultaneously frustrating and satisfying to be forced to proceed so slowly. Frustrating because Will wants nothing more than to fuck Chilton into the mattress until he is screaming Will’s name and nothing else. Satisfying because Will has never had a relationship where he took it slow. Sex has been somewhat difficult for him all his life, and he fixed the issue by jumping in head-first with all his partners.

With Chilton he has no choice, and he is gradually starting to see the upside to that. It feels like they have engaged in an entire week of foreplay by now (and they pretty much have; every spare moment of every day has been spent kissing and cuddling like a couple of love-sick teenagers, only breaking off when Chilton gets too tired to continue), and Will imagines that the sexual frustration mounting in both of them will lead to some pretty amazing sex.

(On the fourth day of that week, Will had pushed Chilton into the couch cushions and straddled him, the motion causing their crotches to rub together. Chilton moan had been unusually loud, and when Will had rocked against him, feeling Chilton’s cock grow hard against his, Chilton had looked wondrously amazed. 

“What is it?” Will had asked, bending down to catch his lips in a searing kiss.

Chilton had blushed. “I was afraid that, you know, being dead and all...”

Will had smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Your digestive system may be dead, but your hands-” he’d picked one up and cradled it in his, kissing the palm, “have been warm all along. Your lips-” he’d kissed them again, “are warm.” He’d cupped Chilton’s jaw. “You blush. You look beautiful when you blush, by the way.” Predictably enough, the words made Chilton’s cheeks heat up even more. “You pupils dilate. You breathe, and your breath quickens when you’re aroused.” Will’s hand had slipped down and covered Chilton’s erection, squeezing it firmly. “I would have been very surprised if you hadn’t been able to get hard.”

Chilton had squirmed under Will’s hand. “Getting hard is one thing. But... orgasms might-...”

Will had kissed him gently. “We’ll find out soon enough.”)

‘Soon enough’ needs to be sooner rather than later, otherwise both of them may just have a mental breakdown.

***

When Chilton suggests moving things to the bed one night, Will has to try very hard not to seem too enthusiastic. After all, there have been near-misses in the recent past (Chilton’s priorities have changed though – his physical presence always remains now, but occasionally his visual projection fades a bit, which is very unnerving to experience).

“I want to approach this the same way we used to practice touching, if that’s all right with you?”

Will actually groans in disappointment. “That’s unfair. I want to touch you too.”

“You can touch me tomorrow, if things work out tonight.”

“If you insist.”

So Will pulls off his t-shirt and obediently lies back on the bed, putting his hands above his head to both signal his willingness to comply with Chilton’s wishes and to help himself live up to his promise. Chilton must have a kink for that sort of thing because his eyes widen, gaze roaming down the length of Will’s body.

“Good,” he mutters, his throat sounding a bit dry. “Good.”

He keeps on his own t-shirt and pants, for which Will is simultaneously grateful and exasperated. It will make it easier for Will to keep his hands off him, that much is undeniable, but he has spent an unwarranted amount of time imagining Chilton naked by now and finds it hugely unfair that the only flash of naked skin he has seen was when Chilton first appeared in Will’s bathroom several weeks ago.

Chilton leans down to kiss him, gentle at first. Will sighs happily against his lips, his fingers twitching as he fights the urge to reach up and bury them in Chilton’s hair. Chilton seems to notice his frustration and deepens the kiss to give Will something more to focus on, sliding his tongue past Will’s lips and slowly, carefully, exploring his mouth. His fingertips trail idly down Will’s neck, finding the sensitive spots he has mapped out during the previous weeks, starting from before their relationship was overtly sexual. His other hand comes up to caress Will’s hair, fingers tangling in Will’s curls. He breaks their kiss and tugs Will’s head back sharply, making Will moan with the suddenness of it. A second later Chilton’s lips are on his throat, leaving wet kisses as he moves downwards, teeth occasionally nipping at the soft skin.

“Frederick...”

“I know,” Chilton murmurs, pulling Will’s hair once more at the same time as he dips his head to catch one of Will’s nipples between his teeth. Will squirms and Chilton is kind enough to move so that he is straddling one of Will’s thighs, allowing Will the opportunity to rub his erection against Chilton’s thigh in return. Will immediately does so, rutting against it with no sense of finesse, cursing the layers of fabric separating him from Chilton’s naked skin.

Having given Will a way to alleviate at least some of the tension that is building up in his body, Chilton settles on exploring Will’s chest with his mouth and fingers, ever so often returning to his nipples to pinch them, roll them between his fingertips, kiss, suck, and nip at them with his teeth. His single-minded goal seems to be to drive Will insane. The more desperately Will rubs himself off against Chilton’s thigh, the slower Chilton’s mouth moves. 

When Will finally lets out a loud whine of frustration, Chilton looks up at him through his eyelashes. “I’m trying to conserve energy. One of us has to.”

The realization that Chilton is holding back for practical reasons makes Will feel sheepish. “Sorry, ‘m sorry, it’s just... you.”

“‘Just me’?”

“I really want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you,” Chilton points out, amused. “And if memory serves, I have been touching you a lot lately.”

“I want you to touch my cock,” Will clarifies. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, rougher and more demanding than he usually is with his partners.

Chilton’s eyes darken. “As you wish.”

He shifts, and Will groans in disappointment when the pressure against his cock disappears. He soon finds something else to focus on when Chilton unbuckles his pants and pulls them down along with his underwear. His erection finally freed, Will sighs. He wiggles about to assist Chilton in pulling off his clothes the rest of the way, using all his self-restraint to not just touch himself to alleviate some of the tension in his groin. That’s not how this little game is played though. 

Chilton is kind enough to not let him wait any longer than necessary. He kneels between Will’s legs and spits into his palm, an action that seems to obscene and dirty that Will actually moans out loud before Chilton’s hand has even reached for him. Chilton gives him a sly look, curling his fingers around Will’s erection and stroking it a couple of times, spreading pre-come and saliva along the shaft and across the head. The delicious feeling of slick friction has Will throwing his head back against the pillow, biting back another moan.

“Don’t do that,” Chilton tells him. “Don’t hold back.”

Will always holds back during sex, he doesn’t even know if he can truly let go. But he will try for Chilton’s sake, and try he does, sighing and groaning while Chilton settles on a steady, no nonsense rhythm, his hand easily sliding up and down Will’s length. He’s good at it, bringing Will to the brink within minutes and then holding him there until Will finally breaks and begs him, “Please, Frederick.”

Chilton surges down to kiss him, and he doesn’t seem to mind that Will’s lips are dry from prolonged panting and moaning. “Go ahead then.”

His grip tightens marginally, his hand moves faster, and Will comes with a shout.

He is covered in sweat and semen, but his main concern is that some of it got on Chilton’s t-shirt. Or rather, his main concern is that the stain magically disappears only seconds after Will notices it.

He is too blissed out to be disturbed by it, instead remarking that, “That is incredibly practical.”

Chilton laughs and pulls off the t-shirt (Will sighs happily, finally getting some of what he wanted), using it to wipe off Will’s stomach. Once more the material cleans itself after a few moments and Chilton puts it back on, ignoring Will’s protests. He catches Will staring at his crotch. His slacks do absolutely nothing to hide his erection.

“I want to be sure I can go through all of it.”

“I know,” Will says. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be disappointed.” An idea occurs to him. “You could touch yourself.”

Chilton blinks. He obviously hadn’t thought about that. “You mean...”

Will stretches out on the bed, running one of his hands down his own neck and across his collarbone. “I mean you could jerk off. We don’t have to touch. But I could... talk you through it?”

Judging from the dilation of his pupils and the blush that spreads across his face and down his neck, Chilton likes the thought of that. “All right,” he says, unbuttoning his pants with shaky fingers, repeating Will’s words from earlier; “If you insist.”

Will licks his lips when Chilton manages to shifts down his underwear and pull out his cock. It’s big and slightly curved, and it looks painfully hard. Will can almost feel the ache in his jaw that will result from sucking Chilton off for hours, and he wants it more than he remembers ever wanting anything else. 

But for now he settles back against the mattress and starts telling Chilton about all the things he wants to do with him, to him, wants him to do, lightly caressing his own chest all the while, finding the small love bites Chilton has left and pressing his fingertips to them, moaning at the sensation. Chilton watches him, completely enthralled, his hand working over his cock with efficient strokes, pushing himself towards orgasm as fast as he can.

As it turns out, ghosts can orgasm. It takes Will by surprise, the feel of hot come hitting his stomach, and Chilton obviously hadn’t expected it either, judging from the surprise on his face when he finally comes down from what looks like a powerful climax.

“Mystery solved,” Will says, drawing his fingers through the mess on his stomach and licking them clean.

***

Will has never been the type for random shows of physical affection, and yet here he is, constantly seeking out the touch of Frederick Chilton of all people.

Maybe, he thinks, it all boils down to how much they touched while it was supposedly platonic and practical.

Or maybe it has something to do with how much Chilton obviously enjoys it, and Will likes making Chilton happy.

At first, Will had thought it had something to do with the ghost thing. He thought Chilton was pleased that he had grown powerful enough for Will to touch him at random times. But now he’s not so sure.

Now he is starting to think that Chilton must have been absolutely starved for touch while he was alive, but now he is finally getting it. That would explain why he always sighs when Will’s fingers brush his lower back, moans when he runs them through his hair, and practically purrs when Will’s wraps his arms around him and kisses the back of his neck.

He is more than happy to provide Chilton with all the affection that he needs.

***

“What are you thinking about?” Chilton asks between kisses trailed down Will’s neck.

Will considers lying, but he knows Chilton won’t buy it. “You mortality, so to speak.”

Chilton snorts, face hidden against Will’s shoulder, his hand slipping under Will’s t-shirt and travelling north, briefly touching his scar before moving up to pinch one of his nipples. The pressure is perfect and Will arches into it, letting out a pleased sigh.

“What about my mortality, as you’ve so inaccurately put it?”

“I’m afraid you’ll disappear.”

Chilton stops moving and kissing his skin. He sits up, straddling Will’s hips and leaving Will lying flat on the bed beneath him. “Why would I disappear?” His facial expression is a horrible mix of confusion and hurt.

Will flinches. “Not on purpose, of course. But one of the books said that spirits often remain on this plane of existence because they have unfinished business. What if your business gets... finished?”

Rolling his eyes, Chilton bends down to give Will a soft kiss. “Did your books say anything about spirits being able to take physical form for extended periods of time?”

“No.”

Another series of kisses along Will’s jawline. “Did they say anything about being able to have sex?”

Will snorts. “Definitely not.”

“Well in that case, I think you can stick those books where the sun doesn’t shine, don’t you?”

“Point taken. Although there are other things I would rather ‘stick where the sun doesn’t shine’.”

For a second Chilton blushes bright red, then he starts laughing hysterically. “Has anybody ever told you your sense of humor is terrible?”.

“One or two people, I believe. You being one of them.”

Chilton’s face softens. “Yeah. Sounds like something I would have said. I was sort of awful sometimes, wasn’t I?”

Will shrugs, as well as you can when you’re lying down. “Sometimes. Most of the time. But you’re better now.”

Chilton tries to hide a bashful smile by turning his head. “You’re just saying that because I’m dead.”

“But you’re not really dead, are you?” Will asks. “I mean, you’re not dead to me. You’re right here.”

Chilton ponders this for a while. “I guess I’m not as dead as I could be.” He looks at Will then, his eyes wide and his expression open. “You make me feel more alive than I used to when I actually was.”

The weight of that statement makes Will’s chest feel tight. “I like the sound of that. You know, you’re probably the only reason I’ve... gotten through all this mess.” He smiles wryly. “You’ve kept me alive, you stupid ghost.”

Both of them chuckle, their hands automatically finding each other like they so often do, clasping together to steady both of them. “We’re fucked up,” Chilton says.

“Possibly,” Will agrees. “But I like it.”

 

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry that you had to wait this long for the final chapter. I just got stuck. Hopefully you'll still like it.

Chilton’s new-found ability to retain physical form at all times seems to please Will’s dogs almost as much as it pleases Will.

They spent so long being aware of his presence but unable to interact with him, now they are overcompensating at every chance they get; they follow him everywhere he goes, constantly causing him to almost trip over them (he does once or twice, but then he learns how to phase through them whenever they stop right in front of him – Will is quietly jealous at that ability). While they used to be curled around the empty space he occupied on the couch, they now scramble to lie on his lap whenever he sits, wherever he sits. 

To Will’s surprise, Chilton doesn’t mind at all. It might have something to do with the fact that dog hair doesn’t stick to his clothes at all, or it might be because the dogs where the first to recognize his existence. 

Buster practically lives on Chilton’s lap. The only time Chilton ever talks about Randall Tier is when he offhandedly mentions that he was glad Buster wasn’t badly hurt that night.

The only dog Chilton seems somewhat wary of is Ellie. It takes Will some time to figure out why, but when he does he feels a bit nauseous. Ellie was the one Mason was feeding his face to when Will got home. Sometimes he looks at her and still sees the bright red blood in her white fur, hears the sound of her enthusiastic chewing. Chilton obviously does the same.

Still, Chilton tried his best not to treat her any different, and Will finds that admirable.

***

“Can I touch your hair?”

Chilton nods firmly, his fingers digging into Will’s hips while his lips trace the scar on his abdomen. It’s still red, despite the stiches coming out weeks ago, but it will fade to a soft pink soon enough, or so Chilton tells him.

The softness of Chilton’s kisses contrast with the memory of the searing pain that Will still feels so freshly in his mind, making him squirm and gasp. The knowledge of where Chilton’s mouth is headed adds to his arousal as well.

He is moving too slowly though.

Having received permission to touch, Will quickly reaches down to comb his fingers through Chilton’s soft hair, gently massaging his scalp and coming to rest at the nape of his neck. He curls his fingers around the back of it to push the other man downwards, his thumb finding Chilton’s pulse by accident. It beats steadily under his warm skin, reminding Will that he isn’t in bed with a corpse, far from it. Chilton’s lips are moving south, leaving kisses along the line of fine hairs that trail from Will’s belly button and grow coarser as they reach his groin. 

Still he isn’t going nearly fast enough.

Will instinctively grabs a handful of Chilton’s hair and pulls him in the right direction. He knows Chilton likes have his hair played with, but he didn’t expect such a swift reaction: Chilton moans loudly, looking up at Will with wide, dark eyes. His lips are already red and puffy from their kissing and his exploration of Will’s body, and Will can’t wait to see what the will look like after he has sucked Will’s cock.

“Okay?”

Chilton nods as much as he can with Will still holding a firm grasp of his hair. “Yes.”

Will guides him to his cock and Chilton obediently opens his mouth. He closes his lips around the head first, swirling his tongue to lick away the pre-come that has formed there. Then he starts bobbing his head, gradually taking more and more of Will’s length into his mouth until Will can feel himself hitting the back of Chilton’s throat. He doesn’t continue further, but he doesn’t gag either. Instead he deliberately pulls his mouth off until his lips are just around the tip once more, and then sinks down just as slowly, a bit lower this time. The speed in torturous, but the feel of being taking so far into Chilton’s mouth is absolutely intoxicating. 

“Oh shit, that’s good,” Will groans, tightening his grip on Chilton’s hair. “You’ve done this before.”

Chilton pulls his mouth off of Will’s cock, gently licking along the underside of it with the flat of his tongue before answering, “In another lifetime, so to speak.”

“Don’t stop,” Will tells him (begs him), and Chilton complies, taking Will’s cock back into his mouth and sucking it more firmly this time. It takes all of his willpower to not arch his hips off the bed and fuck Chilton’s mouth, but Will resists. 

Chilton knows what he is doing, that much is obvious. He moves with precision and confidence, and he soon has Will reduced to a sweaty, whimpering mess, who can only squirm and try to speed up Chilton’s ministrations by pulling his hair. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But it always makes Chilton whine, moan or hum around Will’s cock, and the feel of it is enough to temporarily make Will forget what it is he wants.

It feels like Chilton keeps him on the edge for hours, torturing him with his lips and tongue. He jaw must be hurting by now (oh, how Will wishes to return the favor), but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to stop. 

“Frederick, please.”

Chilton makes a humming noise that sounds like a question, and when Will looks down his eyes are sparkling with mischief. 

“You fucking bastard,” Will hisses, tightening his fingers in the other man’s hair until it has to hurt.

Chilton only sucks harder, seemingly egged on by the addition of a bit of pain. He picks up the pace as well, obviously aiming at getting Will off. Finally.

“Yes, just like that, please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Will finds himself hurtling towards his climax, and when his reaches it, Chilton doesn’t slow down to keep him in limbo. He swallows Will’s cock down to the base and the feeling of being totally enveloped in slick, wet heat is enough to push Will over the edge. He comes with a loud groan, throwing his head back against the pillows. He can feel Chilton swallowing around his cock, over and over until Will feels boneless and empty. Only then does Chilton remove his mouth from Will’s cock, only to lazily lap at it with his tongue, cleaning the last traces of come off of it.

Will shudders and moans when the sensation gets to be too much, and Chilton stops, sitting back on his heels and licking his lips in a truly obscene manner.

“You do realize that you don’t have a working digestive system and you just swallowed my come?”

Chilton shrugs. “I assume my stomach will work the same way my clothes do. Or I’ll vomit. Either way, it’s worth it.”

Will snorts, a snort that soon turns into a chuckling laughter. “You have some weird priorities.”

“I like swallowing,” Chilton confesses, and Will actually groans out loud. “And I don’t hear you complaining.”

“Can I touch you?”

Chilton considers it for a few seconds. “Yes,” he says. “If you start out slow.”

“Can I suck you off?”

Another few seconds, during which Chilton’s eyes darken and his lips part. “Yes.”

“Lie back on the bed.”

Chilton takes Will’s spot and Will takes his, running his hands slowly up Chilton’s thighs. 

“I’ve been wanting to suck your cock for ages,” Will says, enjoying the way Chilton shivers at those words. “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

“Jesus Christ, Will.”

Will smiles, pulling down Chilton’s underwear and eyeing his cock with a hungry look. “Not quite.”

With no further words he sets to work and he doesn’t stop until his jaw is aching and Chilton is a sobbing, begging mess. Only then does he let him come. It only seems fair to repay him for his own troubles.

***

The nightmare is always the same. He runs to save Alana as she falls but he is too late. Then he is standing in Hannibal’s kitchen and everything happens the same way it did in real life. Sometimes it is the Wendigo that stabs him, cuts him open and leaves him struggling to hold his own slippery guts inside his body.

(now he knows how Frederick must have felt)

But more often than not, it’s just Hannibal. Will spent so long seeing him as a black monster in his dreams, seeing his face, his human face, is infinitely more frightening. Seeing the pain in his eyes.

Will is bleeding out, Abigail’s blood splatters across his face and then he is suddenly waking up to soothing words and his own name repeated over and over.

He opens his eyes, seeing his own cracked ceiling instead of Abigail’s terrified face. “Frederick?”

“Yes, I’m here. You were in a worse state than usual, so I thought I should wake you up.”

Will rolls over to face him, finding Chilton lying on his side next to him, watching Will like a hawk. “Did I wake you?” Chilton makes a face and Will realizes the stupidity of that question. “You don’t sleep, do you?”

“Not as such,” Chilton says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Will shakes his head. “It was the same as always.” He looks into Chilton’s eyes and suddenly the only thing he can think of is the fact that he is lying in bed next to an undead creature that never eats and never sleeps. A queasy sort of alarm seizes him for a moment. It must have shown, because Chilton frowns.

“Are you all right?”

“Not really,” Will answers honestly. “It’s stupid, I just... I never thought about how weird it is that you don’t sleep.”

Chilton raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Will frowns, trying to figure out why this hadn’t occurred to him before now.

“I’m choosing to take this at a compliment,” Chilton announces.

“Why?”

Chilton smirks. “It means I’ve been tiring you out to the point where you fall asleep without noticing that I don’t. Every. Single. Night.”

Will snorts, but Chilton actually does have a point there. “So what do you normally do when I’m asleep?”

Chilton’s facial expression twists in one of greatly exaggerated sadness. “Wait for you to wake up.” When Will just stares at him uncomprehendingly, he rolls his eyes. “It’s a SpongeBob joke, it’s... never mind. I forget that pop culture is not your forte.”

“SpongeBob SquarePants is a children’s cartoon, isn’t it?”

“So? There are life lessons to be learned everywhere. But, to answer your question, I wait for you to fall asleep and then I just...” He gestures vaguely into thin air. “Zone out for a bit. But I never disappear like I used to. I’m always here.”

“Always watching,” Will says, a smile playing on his lips. “Like Edward Cullen.”

Chilton lets out a surprised laugh. “How do you... _Twilight_? Really?”

“I’m a teacher,” Will explains. “And young women talk to one another about these things.”

“Well I am frankly upset that you would make that comparison, and I’m hoping you don’t realize how insulting it is.”

Will is still smiling. “I’ve got a vague idea.” 

The silliness of their conversation has chased away the last remnants of his nightmare and the darkness that lingered in his mind. He leans over to give Chilton a brief kiss, muttering against his lips, “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“I’m sorry I freaked you out,” Chilton whispers, suddenly worried again.

“That’s not your fault,” Will says. “At least I won’t wake you up.”

“Definitely not.”

Will falls asleep while Chilton strokes his back, thinking that it there is something to be said for a partner who doesn’t need to sleep.

***

“Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“It works better when you’re relaxed.”

Chilton snorts. “I know. I _am_ relaxed.”

His body, spread out on Will’s bed, completely naked, is anything but relaxed. Whenever Will’s fingers skim along a patch of sensitive skin – on his stomach, his thighs, the inside of his forearms, along his ribs - he tenses up, his breathing growing irregular.

“You’re not,” Will teases, purposefully tickling his side.

Chilton giggles, squirming away. “That’s not fair.”

Will wraps his fingers around Chilton’s erection and gives it a few experimental strokes. “How about this?”

Chilton groans, throwing his head back against the pillow. “Patently unfair.”

“How are you doing?” Will asks. He tries to be casual about it and Chilton, bless him, doesn’t comment on how he fails.

“I’m fine,” he says, “Keep going.”

Will does as asked, settling on his heels, jerking Chilton off in a slow steady rhythm, his other hand caressing all the skin he can reach, finally trailing down to cup Chilton’s balls in his palm, kneading them softly. “You still sure about this?”

Chilton responds by reaching out, groping through the sheets until he finds the tube of lube they dropped there earlier, pressing it into Will’s free hand. Will gives him a lopsided smile. “All right then.”

He slicks up his fingers, waits for Chilton to give a little nod, and presses one finger against his hole. It slips in easily. Chilton lets out a strangled noise, his brow furrowing in concentration. Will immediately stops moving on pure reflex. Chilton rolls his eyes.

“That was a good noise, not an ‘I’m going to dissolve into thin air’-noise.”

“Sorry,” Will says. “It’s hard to tell sometimes.” As compensation he adds a second finger, carefully scissoring them.

Chilton lets out the same noise as before, a very attractive mix of an appreciative grown and a soft gasp. “Yeah,” he breathes. “But trust me, the last thing I want to do right now is dissolve, so I’ll tell you if I need you to – oh shit, God damn it.”

Will grins, teasingly stroking his fingertips over Chilton’s prostate at every other thrust of his fingers. “All right, I get it.”

“Good,” Chilton says, rocking his body downwards to force Will’s finger’s deeper. “I’ve got everything under control.”

“Oh yeah?” A twist of his fingers and the addition of a third digit has Chilton moaning deeply. “I can see that.”

Though clenched teeth, Chilton goes “Hah hah hah,”

Will won’t be satisfied before all traces of attitude are erased, so he settles into a slow pace, casually grazing Chilton’s prostrate but never fully providing the right amount of pressure. Chilton figures out what he is up to immediately and complains. Colorfully.

“You know what I want,” Will tells him.

“You want me to beg, don’t you?” Chilton asks, eyes on Will’s face.

Will nods, smiling.

“Fine then. Please, Will.”

“You can do better than that.” He gives Chilton a bit of what he wants, steady pressure on his prostate, more speed and harder thrusts.

Chilton’s eyes close and he groans deep in his chest. “Fuck it, all right, all right. Please Will, I want you to fuck me, will you please get on with it, I’m begging you.”

“So bossy,” Will teases, but he withdraws his fingers all the same, reaches for the lube and slicks up his cock. He is so hard by now, he is amazed that he stopped himself from fucking Chilton into the mattress sooner. Chilton is already wrapping his legs around Will’s hips when Will stops him, “I want you to ride me.”

Chilton lets out a small whimper before giving Will’s chest a hard shove, sending him toppling onto his back. Will has barely regaining his bearings before Chilton is straddling his hips. He reaches behind himself to grab Will’s cock and hold it steady. Then he slowly starts lowering himself, sinking down until Will’s cock is buried deep inside his body. 

Will has to fight to keep his eyes open, overwhelmed by how good it feels to finally by enveloped in Chilton’s tight heat, but he wants to watch him, wants to see the look of concentration on Chilton’s face as he slowly lifts himself up before dropping down again, the way his mouth falls open and he lets out a long moan when he finds an angle that makes Will’s dick rub against his prostate. Will puts his hands on Chilton’s hips, digging his fingers into his soft flesh and helping him settle on a steady rhythm - fast, hard, and desperate.

Will wants them to stay like this forever, but Chilton is obviously hurtling himself towards his climax as fast as possible, and Will knows he needs to let that happen. He starts arching his hips off the bed, fucking Chilton hard while he rides him. Chilton’s moans grow even louder and strings of Spanish swearing start falling from his lips. He braces himself on Will’s chest with one hand and grabs his dick with the other, stroking himself. He looks Will in the eye just before he closes them and comes with a shout, spilling all over Will’s stomach and chest. Will has been so busy watching him, he didn’t even realize how close he was himself, but when Chilton tightens around him Will’s orgasm hits him unexpectedly, and he comes deep inside his lover.

Chilton stays on top of him for a few minutes, lying on Will’s chest, not caring that their sweat and his come is cooling. Will’s tenderly strokes his spine, waiting for Chilton to summon up enough energy to move.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

Chilton doesn’t get dirty, so he hasn’t showered since he first appeared in Will’s bathroom. Neither will the come and sweat on his body (and inside him) stay there for more than a minute once he pulls away, but the request seems so honest that Will automatically agrees.

Before they’ve reached the bathroom, Chilton’s body has reverted to its normal state, but it doesn’t matter. Will knows that what he wants is more close physical contact and he is more than willing to give it to him. 

***

Will still worries that Chilton might disappear. He worries that he might not be real. But whenever Chilton kisses him those worries melt away.

***

Chilton thinks that the process of gutting fish is absolutely disgusting, and yet he still hangs around the kitchen whenever Will comes home with a new catch, making faces and noises of disgust while Will cleans and guts whatever he managed to catch.

“You could just leave,” Will suggests.

Chilton would normally offer a scathing reply, but today he just goes uncharacteristically silent. It stretches for so long that Will gets worried and asks him what’s wrong.

“I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m here.”

Will tries not show how much this train of thought worries him, but Chilton notices, of course he does.

“It’s nothing sinister. I read some of those stupid books you borrowed from the library, and I’ve been developing a theory.”

“Which is?”

Chilton takes a deep breath before continuing. “I think I felt safe here for a short time.”

Will stares at him. “Safe?”

“Yes,” Chilton replies. “I was terrified after I’d been arrested, just before I died. I was terrified when I was last in my own house. But for a brief time while I was here, I felt somewhat secure. I think that’s why my spirit went back here after I was shot.”

Will feels the familiar inkling of guilt, the one he has gotten so used to. “Even though I betrayed your trust.”

Chilton smiles wryly, crosses the room and presses a soft kiss to Will’s lips. “You thought I would be safer in custody. You would probably have been right if Miss Lass wasn’t such a good shot.”

“How did it feel?” Will asks. “Dying? Did it hurt?” He has been longing to ask that question, but never felt like he had to right to do so.

Chilton shakes his head. “I didn’t feel a thing. On minute I was talking to Alana, the next I was here. My only regret is not being able to attend my own funeral. There would have been something delightfully Tom Sawyer-esque about it.”

Will snorts. “I heard rumors that it was a very solemn affair. Everyone thought you were a serial killer, remember?”

Chilton’s face falls a bit. “Right.”

Feeling bad for reminding him of that, Will abandons his fish entirely, washes his hands and pulls the ghost into a hug. “People who actually knew you didn’t believe it for a second, Frederick. You’re way too, how should I put it, _squeamish_ to be the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Chilton laughs. “Wonderful. That’s your best defense. Not the fact that I can’t eat meat or that I couldn’t possibly have overpowered several FBI agents. No, I’m too pathetic and _squeamish_ to be a cannibalistic serial killer.”

“It’s true though.” He plants a kiss on Chilton’s temple, then below his ear. Chilton sighs.

“Regardless of that, I really feel like someone needs to get fired over at the BAU. Possibly everybody involved in this sorry mess. And I’m not just saying that because I’m dead. I don’t even care that I am.”

“You care about your sullied reputation,” Will supplies.

“Exactly.”

“How about I have Freddie Lounds write a number of scathing articles about how the FBI mishandled your case? That might lead to some reprimands down the line.”

“She would do that for you?” Chilton asks, clearly surprised.

“In return for interviews, Freddie will do anything, even champion the cause of a dead man. Plus, I think she already feels protective of you. She never believed you were the Ripper, not for a second.”

“So she is smarter than Jack Crawford. That’s comforting.”

Will buries his face in Chilton’s shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”

***

Jack calls Will at six in the morning and asks him to come to his office as soon as possible. Despite refusing to disclose the purpose of this surprise invitation, Will already knows what it is. 

He gets dressed in silence while Chilton’s ever watchful eyes trail his movements. He doesn’t tell him where he is going, or why, but Chilton already knows.

Hannibal has been arrested.

When Will returns home that night he is surprised to see Chilton standing in the driveway, waiting for him.

“I thought you hadn’t made it further than the porch?”

Chilton shrugs, offering him a smile. “I’ve been practicing while you weren’t looking.”

They stand in easy silence for a while until Will starts talking, “They’ve got him. He’s been arrested in Paris, and he’s being flown over to stand trial.”

“Seems almost anti-climatic.”

Will snorts. “Yeah. It sort of does.”

“Are you going to testify?”

“Yes, they’re all insisting and I... I need to. I need to end this.”

Chilton nods. “That’s good.” He looks up at the sky. “And in case you’re wondering, the pull from beyond you’ve been not-so-subtly worrying about still isn’t happening. Even though Dr. Lecter has been caught.”

Will smiles, stepping closer to embrace him. “I’m glad to hear that.”

***

The day Hannibal is finally convicted and sentenced to spend the rest of his days at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will comes home to find Chilton sitting on the couch with his eyes closed and a look at great concentration on his face.

“He’s been-”

“Shh,” Chilton shushes him.

Will frowns. Chilton has as big a stake in Hannibal’s ultimate fate as anyone. “What are you doing?”

Chilton opens one eye to look at him. “Trying something.”

And then he disappears. Will patiently waits for him to reappear within a couple of seconds, like he usually does, but before he knows it a minute has passed and Will starts getting worried. “Frederick?” Nothing.

Panic is slowly starting to blossom in Will’s chest when Chilton materializes again, a great, fat smirk on his face. “Yes!” He is almost shaking with excitement.

“Where did you go?”

Chilton looks so proud, Will starts smiling despite not knowing what’s going on. “I went to my hospital,” he says. “Well, my old hospital.”

“You can do that?” Will asks, stunned.

“I can now!” He rubs his hands together, a look on his face like he is planning to wreak havoc. “I guess my connection to the place is still strong. I didn’t manage to touch things, but I can make stuff fall down and flutter around.”

“Can I ask why you-...” It dawns on him. “Oh.”

Chilton nods, smiling like the devil. “I’m going to haunt the living daylight out of Hannibal Lecter.”

Will can’t help himself: he laughs. He laughs and laughs until tears are streaming down his face, and when Chilton joins him he just laughs harder.

***

His mind palace is vast enough for him to spend a lifetime there, but he cannot avoid the physical world all together. Nor does he want to. They let him draw and decorate the walls with the greatest works of architecture in the world. They let him keep books in his cell. The mind palace is an escape, but he can save it for when he is truly bored.

54 days into his incarceration, one of his books falls off the shelf for no good reason. Another one follows. While Hannibal stares at them, every single book goes flying onto the floor. Deciding that he must be experiencing a brief hallucination due to the drugs his inept caretaker has put him on, Hannibal cleans up the mess, closes his eyes and goes back to exploring the streets of Rome.

The same thing happens the next day. And the day after that.

Then gusts of wind start blowing through his cell despite the fact that it's located in the basement. Sometimes it's so bad that his drawings are torn loose.

Messages appear on his drawings in a handwriting he feels he should recognize. ‘Too bad you won’t see Florence again’ defaces the Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral. The Sacré-Cœur is ruined with the words ‘You’re going to miss French cooking, aren’t you?’

Hannibal would never have slept through someone entering his cell at night to do this. For a brief second he thinks he might be going crazy, but he dismisses the notion just as quickly.

Until one night when he wakes up, sensing a presence in his cell. He calmly turns his head and comes face to face with a dead man.

Frederick Chilton does not look dead though. Hannibal knows that Miriam Lass shot him in the head, but there’s no sign of that.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter.” Chilton disappears in the blink of an eye only to reappear at the end of Hannibal’s bed. “How have you been? I’ve been reeeeaaally busy being dead. You know, after I was murdered because of you!”

Hannibal doesn’t speak. Interacting with a hallucination feels beneath him.

“Oh, so that’s how it is. The silent treatment. Maybe you’re just going crazy huh? That would explain a lot. Well then I guess I’ll just keep wrecking your cell then until you stop being so _rude_. After all, we’ve got all the time in the world to catch up.”

 

_Epilogue_

“He started talking to me today,” Chilton says brightly.

Will looks up from his book. “I thought he was ignoring you?”

Chilton shakes his head, smiling. “He told me to fuck off. In no uncertain terms. That means he’s starting to think I’m real. That means he’s starting to question his own grasp on reality. That means I’m well on my way to driving him insane.”

Will drops the book and stands up, approaching his ghost. “You can be very cruel when you want to, did you know that?”

“He deserves it,” Chilton says immediately. He closes the distance between them with no prompting, giving Will a slow, deep kiss.

“You make me question my own reality sometimes,” Will murmurs, avoiding Chilton's gaze. “Sometimes I still think you’re nothing but sweet, poisonous smoke, lulling me to sleep every night.”

“I know,” Chilton replies. He sounds apologetic, oddly enough. “I hope that one day I’ll prove to you once and for all that I’m real. That you’re not alone in this.”

Will puts his hand on Chilton’s chest. There’s a heartbeat under his palm where there should be nothing. “I know you’re real.”

The corner of Chilton’s mouth twitches upwards into a small smile. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided to name Will’s dogs by their actual real life names, as reported in Bryan Fuller’s tweets (Despite Winston actually being called Heidee, Buster is called Buster in real life, and I’m using that as an excuse)


End file.
